


butt

by simplycarryon



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Other, Spoilers, small babychildren calling each other names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 07:18:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5576290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplycarryon/pseuds/simplycarryon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharing clothes is harder than you thought it'd be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	butt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feralphoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/gifts).



> fluffy charasriel fluff for feral! i think my writerly brain is on winter break so i apologize for Not Being On The Ball with things but here is a thing.
> 
> warning!!! for fluff!!!! and copious use of the word 'butt'!!!!! WARNING!!!!!!! 
> 
> ~~i legitimately got in trouble for saying the word butt as a kid ok toriel and asgore would CRACK DOWN ON THAT SHIT~~

They’re wearing your sweater.

Technically, you’re also wearing their sweater, because you share clothes. But they’re wearing your _favorite_ sweater, the green one with the big yellow stripe across the middle, and you’ve been looking for it _everywhere_ and you had to downgrade to the one with _two_ yellow stripes on it that smells kind of like turtle and it turns out your favorite sweater’s been here on Chara the whole time anyway.

You’re not really sure how to broach the topic, because, well. You do _share_ clothes, in the sense that your clothes are supposed to be interchangeable as long as the two of you fit into the same things. Which means that if Chara gets to the closet and takes your favorite sweater before you do, you’re not allowed to demand it back. That's The Rule that Mom Instated, because fighting over clothes is dumb and the crown prince should _apparently_ know better but _also the crown prince really just wants to wear his favorite sweater, Mom, make them give it back—_

You wonder, sometimes, if they’re trying to annoy you. 

Mom says you need to be more understanding, that you need to get used to sharing, but—Chara breaks into your SUPER SECRET LOCKED DIARY, DO NOT TOUCH, and they take your favorite things sometimes, and they pull your ears and pinch your paws, and maybe you should be happy that they’re opening up enough to do things like that but you also sort of wish they wouldn’t. You don’t read their secrets. You don’t take their favorite clothes. You don’t wipe your sticky paws on their fur-hair when they annoy you. And you definitely only put a bug in their bed one time, and only because they ate half of your slice of pie when you left it alone for a minute.

You _have_ done some things you feel bad about. But you try not to think about those. Sometimes Chara makes you angry and bad, and sometimes you want to make them feel angry and bad too, and—you don’t mean those things, when you say them. You don’t hate Chara. You don’t wish you’d never met them, you don’t wish they’d never fallen. But you've said those things, to get back at them, or once just to see what would happen, and you can’t take them back even though you want to.

Living with someone else is hard.

You can’t take your sweater back, either. You could probably convince them to give it to you, but they look awfully comfortable in it, so instead of demanding it or complaining about how your sweater smells like old turtle breath until they hand theirs over just to shut you up, you sit next to them, curling your legs beneath you until you feel sort of pretzel-y.

“Hi,” Chara says. They sound tired. They look tired, too, now that you’re closer to their face. The shadows under their eyes are a permanent feature, but today they’re darker, heavier.

“Hi,” you reply, scooting close enough to—slowly, carefully—rest your head on their shoulder. “You’re wearing my sweater.”

“It’s my sweater too,” Chara says, wrinkling their nose a little. “You smell like crab apples.” 

“Yeah, well, you smell like a _butt,”_ you say, and you regret that as soon as it comes out of your mouth, because Mom probably heard you from a million miles away and you’re going to get in trouble for an insult that wasn’t even _good._

Chara’s shoulders shake, a little, and you realize they’re laughing. At you.

“Well,” they say, their voice wavering from what you think is them trying really, really hard not to laugh out loud, “you smell like _two_ butts. That a turtle touched.”

 _“Gross,”_ you say, moving your head so you can punch them in the shoulder. They punch yours back, and you pinch their nose, and they pull your ears, and—tussling on the floor is bad but only if you get caught and if you’re going to get in Mom Trouble for saying “butt” you figure you might as well get in trouble for the whole package.

The two of you wind up sprawled on the floor next to each other, not much the worse for wear. It helps that you didn’t mean to hurt each other; rolling around on the floor calling each other names isn’t a real fight, and when you finally stop you’re barely even out of breath.

It’s quiet, for a little bit.

“I wanted to wear this sweater ‘cause it smelled like you,” Chara says, their gaze flicking away from yours, like saying that is embarrassing. “It’s nice. Even if you smell like a butt.”

You—well. You feel bad, first, for wanting to take it from them. And then you feel like sticking your feet in their face, because you don’t smell like a butt. 

But you don’t do that. You feel kind of warm and happy, knowing that Chara wanted to smell your smell, even if their human nose isn’t as great at that as your monster nose. You feel—trusted, knowing that your smell is a smell that they like, that they want to have around them, even if it means wearing your favorite sweater.

“I guess you can keep wearing it,” you tell them. You headbutt their shoulder, gently, and they sort of shift toward you, and when they’re still and comfortable again you touch their cheek with your nose. “But tomorrow you get the butt sweater.”

“It smells like _crab apples,”_ Chara says, their face turning red; they push your nose away with one hand, and you push back, nuzzling their hand instead. You know this is not helping, and you also don’t care. _“You_ smell like a butt. But okay.”

“Whatever, butt,” you say, your voice muffled in their hand.

They laugh, a little, and shove you away.

The time-out Mom gives you both for fighting and calling each other names is worth it, you think.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Undyne's Word](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5593282) by [Mangaluva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangaluva/pseuds/Mangaluva)




End file.
